


San Francisco (Be Sure To Wear Some Flowers in Your Hair)

by captainkoirk



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: And No One Gets Murdered, And None For Hannibal Lecter xoxo, Beverly is Besterly, Camping, Gen, Mentions of Violence, Well-Deserved R&R, Will Graham Has a Nice Day
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-10
Updated: 2013-06-28
Packaged: 2017-12-14 12:32:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/836907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainkoirk/pseuds/captainkoirk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're at the shooting range when Beverly asks him, putting a finger to to her lips and flicking her eyes to the door.</p><p>Will doesn't object. It's nice to be in on The Capital S Secrets, every now and then.</p><p> </p><p>Or, Will Has a Nice, Relaxing Vacation, goes fishing, gets a farmer's tan, and eats food that isn't People.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

They're at the shooting range when Beverly asks him, putting a finger to to her lips and flicking her eyes to the door.

 

Will doesn't object. It's nice to be in on The Capital S Secrets, every now and then.

 

"You need a vacation?" She phrases it like a question, but it _is_ a question, without power behind it, not like Jack, not like Hannibal, not even like Alana, sometimes.

 

"Uh."

 

"Think about it. Don't tell _anyone,_ not even Hannibal. Especially not Hannibal. This is all you."

 

And Beverly drops it. Just like that; No prodding, no reasoning. She shakes out her hair, puts the hearing protection back on, and leans back, watching Will do his thing.

 

…

 

Will asks Jack for three days off, following a Saturday and a Sunday. He says he needs it, and he isn't lying. Jack doesn't object, only narrows his eyes, almost imperceptibly. The devil is in the details, but Jack knows when not to push. Will's been a key component in Jack Crawford's team ever since he pulled him out of he classroom, but no Will is better than a frayed Will.

 

Truthfully, Will isn't really sure when he last felt felt together on all fronts. He's together like puzzle pieces in the wrong place, jammed so that they fit, but they still don't make a picture. A Vacation. It's an alien concept to him, and so is Beverly Katz. She doesn't seem to have any ulterior motives, and she's not pushing him in any particular direction. Will wants to ask Hannibal, but if he's gone along with Beverly this far, he might as well honour her requests. When he sees her alone, leaving the autopsy room, he gives her a half-aborted little wave, not meeting her eyes, but she smiles, and makes her way over to him.

 

Beverly stands with Will like she does with anybody else. Unapologetically tall, but not looming. Close, but not invasive. In colloquial terms, Will thinks Beverly is nice.

 

"Hey, Will. What's up?"

 

"I asked Jack."

 

"Asked Jack what?"

 

"For… some vacation time." Will stares at his shoes. He should've known that this wouldn't be the only thing on Beverly's mind, that he'd have to clarify. But Beverly looks around to make sure no one's listening, like this is important, and Will feels a little better.

 

"Will, I don't want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. Do you trust me?"

 

"Well, I can't imagine things getting much more uncomfortable than the creative minds we get to wrangle daily."

 

"That's not really what I meant. Do you trust me?"

 

Will blinks slowly. Beverly has her arms by her side, her right hand toying the the hem of her blouse. "I- Yeah."

 

"Do you know where the Washington Dulles airport is?"

 

"Beverly… what is this about?"

 

"I'm not your psychologist. It's not my job to tell you what you need. But I am an older sister, Will, and I know a thing or two about caring for people. You need time away, but I don't think it's a good idea for you to be on your own right now."

 

Will stays quiet.

 

"We should get out of here, for a little while."

 

"Alright."

 

"Can Alana feed your dogs?"

 

"I can ask."

 

"Okay. Call me on my personal cell, okay?"

 

Beverly grabs a pen and some paper from her bag, scrawling her number, folding it, and handing it to Will.

 

"What's your plan?"

 

"Pack for time in the city and some basic camping gear. Dulles is about eleven miles from here, get a cab or keep your car in the airport lot. Meet me at the domestic gate at seven on Friday night. Is this okay?"

 

Will nods, shoving Beverly's number in the back pocket of his corduroys.

 

"And Will?"

 

"Yeah?"

 

"I'm not a psychologist. If anything feels wrong, or upsets you, you have to tell me. I don't have the savvy to figure it out."

 

"Uh. Okay. Should I still not be telling anyone?"

 

"Yeah."

 

"I can do that."

 

Beverly gives him a small smile, hoists her bag higher up on her shoulder, and is on her way. No prodding, no reasoning. Just Beverly.

 

…

 

Will drops by Alana's office, lingering in the doorway. She invites him in as soon as she notices him, and he awkwardly hovers around the chairs in front of her desk. It still feels weird to be alone with her.

 

"Can I ask a favour?"

 

"Depends what it is."

 

"I'm… uh, going on vacation for a few days. Do you think you could check up on my dogs? Like, feed them. And uh, you know- look after them? If it's not too much trouble, or anything."

 

"Sure, that'd be no problem. Might I ask where you're going?"

 

"Uhm. I'm actually… not sure yet. Just away, I guess."

 

Alana looks curious, but she doesn't ask, and Will is grateful.

 

…

 

Will stares at his suitcase, unsure of what to bring. He calls Beverly, and she picks up after the third ring.

 

"Hello?"

 

"Uh, hi, Beverly. It's Will."

 

"Oh, hey!"

 

"Alana said she'd watch my dogs."

 

"That's great. What's up?"

 

"It just occurred- uh, I don't know where we're going. What should I be packing?"

 

"Sorry, I didn't mean to keep you in the dark. It just seemed like the less anyone knew about anything, the better. I don't mean just you. I mean Alana, too. How does Northern California sound to you?"

 

"I've never been."

 

"I was thinking we could hang out in San Francisco for a bit, and drive up to Big Sur for some easy camping. There's also some pretty killer food- _wow._ Fucking FBI. There's good food. Fantastic food. In Big Sur. Shit, I need this vacation, too."

 

Even though it had been semi-discussed before, it just occurs to Will now that Beverly is coming with him. He's not sure how to feel, but he doesn't think he was lying when he told her he trusted her. "Any good fishing?"

 

"Oh, yeah! Plenty of parks. I never knew you were a fishing guy. Even if you dress like the outdoorsy type."

 

"Uh."

 

"Well, I play the violin, and I guess I don't seem like the type, either. So I'll see you on Friday?"

 

"But what about the tickets?"

 

"I got them covered."

 

Will frets, and it seems like Beverly can tell.

 

"Don't sweat it. You can pay me back."

 

"Uh, cool. I'll see you on Friday, then."

 

"Sweet. Bye!"

 

"Bye."

 

Will puts his phone on the receiver, and it occurs to him that that was probably one of the longest conversations he's ever had on the phone. It's easier than just talking, you never have to look anyone in the eyes, but it still isn't pleasant, generally.

 

He figures he doesn't really need any special clothes, apart from some shorts and maybe a fleece. He tucks his tackle box under his clothes in the suitcase, along with his disassembled fishing rod.

 

He doesn't sleep deeply, but he sleeps, and his nightmares are small and faded, like old photographs, trapped by small margins and obscurity.

 

…

 

Will hovers around the domestic flights gate, backpack carry-on, rolling suitcase in one hand, and cellphone clutched in the other. It's five to seven. He knows he should call Beverly. He's the one with her number, she doesn't have his, so it'll be _fine._ It's not weird. He can call her.

 

He does, standing stiff with his phone pressed against his ear. The phone rings five times.

 

" _Hi!_ "

 

"Hey-"

 

" _This is Beverly. I can't come to the phone right now, but leave me a message or call me back._ "

 

Beep.

 

Will hangs up, his skin feeling hot. He shouldn't have called her, he should have just-

 

His phone rings. It's Beverly.

 

"Hello?"

 

"Hey, Will. Sorry I missed your call, my phone was, like, buried at the bottom of my purse."

 

"Uhm, no worries." Will bites his lip, willing his breathing to slow down. It's fine. Of course it's fine, it's a normal thing, not always keeping track of your things. He has no reason to worry.

 

"Are you at the domestic flights door?"

 

"Yeah."

 

"I'm just walking up, I'll meet you at the American Airlines counter for San Francisco. See you in two?"

 

"Yeah, see you."

 

Will sees Beverly through the sliding doors, a large purse over one shoulder and a duffel bag over the other, cellphone in hand. He's not used to seeing her outside of work clothes. She's wearing cuffed denim capris, with a white, airy blouse, a burgundy cardigan, and leather sandals. Her toenails are painted a bright coral, and she has sunglasses folded and hooked over her shirt. Will feels uncomfortable in his hiking boots and cargo shorts, shifting his weight from foot to foot, not calling out or waving to her. Beverly spots him soon enough, and he looks down, hoping she didn't see him staring. She waves, and calls out his name.

 

"Will!"

 

"Er. Hey, Beverly."

 

"Those're nice hiking boots. It's so hard to find good ones. Are those Meindl?"

 

"Yeah. Yeah, they are." Will peeks up at Beverly, and she's still looking at his shoes. He feels better.

 

"Those will be perfect in Big Sur. We can do some small hikes, if you like. I brought a two-person tent and a good sleeping bag, some utensils, and a camping stove."

 

"Oh, I'd like- uh, I'm not really prepared." Will feels his posture sink a little. So much for feeling better about his get up.

 

"Don't worry about gear, we can rent all that stuff. You've got practical clothes and the best boots out there." Beverly talks like she's reassuring him, and honestly, it makes Will feel really good.

 

"I, uh. Brought fishing stuff."

 

"I looked up a list of good fishing parks, and we can ask around Big Sur. I've never really been fishing before, but I know a few simple recipes with light ingredients to carry. We can cook them on our camp stove!"

 

Beverly seems genuinely enthusiastic about the whole thing. It makes sense, it was her harebrained scheme, but Will supposes it will just take some getting used to. It's not bad, though. It's just different. He finds himself looking forward to this trip, not just as a getaway. It's a destination, too.

 

…

 

Will's steps falter when they reach security. It's just a domestic flight, but Will feels nervous. Scanners, everyone scrutinizing, staring, touching, even. He makes to remove his shoes, follow the protocol, and Beverly slips off her sandals so _easily,_ and his boots have so many laces-

 

And Beverly isn't moving to go through the scanner, she's just standing next to him, and it doesn't even look like she's waiting for anything. Will loosens his grip on his laces.

 

"Will, remember what I said about telling me if anything's wrong?" Beverly's voice isn't a reprimand, and her concern doesn't sound like Jack's concern, or even Hannibal's.

 

"Er, airport security makes me… nervous." Will toes off his boots, and Beverly pulls her FBI ID card out from under her shirt on a lanyard. She grins when he gives her a questioning look.

 

"They'll make sure not to hassle us too much. They're wary of rank."

 

Will smiles, in spite of his runaway nerves.

 

Beverly goes through the scanner first, slow, like she's setting an example, and when Will follows, nothing goes off, and even though there's no real _stares,_ and Will feels okay, like he's not under a microscope. Beverly stands with him when he laces up his boots again, turning off her phone and finding a book for the plane.

 

"Ugh, there's no chance they'll feed us anything up in the air. Wanna grab a bite to eat, or something?"

 

"Yeah, sure."

 

They eat pizza off paper plates, with paper-cup Coke with too many ice cubes. Beverly asks Will about fishing, and he tells her that he makes his own tackle. She's keen to know more, and Will is happy to talk about it. He doesn't get many chances to. He tells her how he shapes the wood and metal, how he paints it with tiny, horse-hair brushes and a magnifying glass, how he wraps the wire, the little pincer stand he built to keep them upright while he works. It's nice to talk about something other than work, Will thinks, and he tells Beverly as much. She agrees, muffled around the crust of her pizza.

 

"So, what's the plan when we get to San Francisco?" Will feels his speech patterns becoming easier, more casual. It doesn't scare him.

 

"I booked a middle-ground hotel for a couple of nights, near the downtown core. Nothing fancy, don't worry. You can pay me back."

 

"Jesus, I'm running quite the tab." Will jokes, and Beverly laughs, doesn't seem scared of him, either.

 

"I booked two joint rooms. Sound good?"

 

"Yeah. Sounds great, actually." Will means it. Beverly's giving him space, but she's not leaving him completely alone, either. It's a nice balance, and Will really appreciates it.

 

"We can rent a sweet ride and drive up to Big Sur. Convertible sound good?"

 

"Best make it red, go all the way."

 

Beverly grins. "I like the way you think, Will."

 

Will offers her a small smile. It's weird to hear that. Attention to his thoughts, especially recently, usually only occurs on the job or in the medical field. Will figures even Hannibal has a professional outlook on him, even if he treats him like a friend, but Beverly is just Beverly, and she doesn't seem afraid, or interested in a book deal.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Beverly was right. Apart from complimentary snacks and beverages, there is no food on the plane. Will has never really flown, except for work, and he's never really relaxed on planes. Beverly's calm mood has an effect on him, though, and Will actually manages to nap during the flight, shoulder slightly leaning on Beverly's. Before he knows it, Beverly's waking him, whispering to him, and Will is grateful she didn't try and touch his arm, or anything, without asking if it was alright, first. Beverly seems good with that sort of thing. She treats him like she does anyone else, but she seems to know just how much space he needs, dealing with his anxieties in a completely natural way.

It's ten at night, California time, and Beverly can't stop from yawning.

"I can't sleep upright. Long flights totally suck for me." She says, grabbing her luggage from the carrousel.

Will pays for the car rental, keeping a tally of how much he owes Beverly for the flight and the hotel. She asks the employee at the counter if they have any Ford Mustang convertibles in red, and flashes Will a grin when all the forms are signed and the keys are theirs. Beverly drives, dark hair flowing out behind her. Will feels comfortable with her at the wheel, just like when she's beside the autopsy table. She knows what she's doing, and he's not nervous.

…

Will enjoys the sheer average that is their hotel. Muted colours, bland art, lobby chairs with straight backs and squishy seat cushions, and a bowl of mints bought in bulk at the reception. He tells Beverly as much, and she agrees with a laugh. Will's glad that he makes her laugh with humour that isn't sardonic, on account of it being in reference to one murder or another. It's new, but it doesn't feel dangerous in any way. Beverly lets Will be himself, while being herself around him. Will guesses this is friendship, even if he's not really sure enough to say it just like that.

Beverly wishes Will goodnight, stopping at the room next to his own.

"Sleep until whenever. It's a vacation!"

Will notices the door inside his room, connecting him with Beverly. He doesn't bother to unpack much besides his toothbrush and toothpaste, it's warm enough just to sleep in his underwear.

Will falls asleep facing the door, almost immediately.

…

Will awakes to sound of Beverly showering next door. If he dreamt the night before, he can't remember.

Sunlight peeks under his blinds, and when Will pulls them back, the city sprawls beneath him. It looks warm out, but it's still early enough for the fog to cling to the ground. He dresses slowly, feeling unaccustomed to the unhurried nature of vacation. He frets, wondering if his clothes wouldn't fit the feel of the city, but he remembers Beverly's reassurance, and relaxes. They have days of nothing stretching ahead of them, and Will's excited.

Beverly knocks before entering. She's dressed casually, in yesterday's capris and a cotton v-neck in a sunny shade of yellow. She towels off her hair while she talks.

"Have you ever had Dim Sum?"

"No."

"Probably a good thing. The Dim Sum in Virginia is crap."

"What is it?"

"It's like… Cantonese brunch? I guess that's a pretty general way of putting it. But we're in San Francisco, home of the biggest Chinatown on the continent. Wanna give it a shot?"

"Yeah, I'd like that." Will considers that it's not often he gets to try new things. Routine has always been safe for him, but Dim Sum with Beverly sounds appealing.

…

They wander through Chinatown, crowded on a Saturday morning, until Beverly finds a Dim Sum place up to her standard.

"I hope you're hungry!" Her cheeriness in infectious, and Will does feel hungry. He hasn't eaten anything except airport pizza since last night, and he's looking forward to the meal that has Beverly so excited.

…

Will loves Dim Sum. He loves getting to try a little bit of everything, in case he doesn't like it, and he loves being able to eat as much as he wants of what he does like. Beverly loves that Will loves it, and encourages him to try all of her favourites.

Will munches on Cha sui boa while Beverly explains what goes into the sauce. Her pronunciation is better than his by a long shot, but she just calls them "steamed pork buns" to keep him from getting them mixed up with the other dishes.

"Is this barbecue flavour?"

"Oyster sauce, hoisin sauce, some roasted sesame seed oil, rice vinegar, sherry, if you can't find shaoxing wine, sugar, and soy sauce. Corn starch to thicken, if you're short on time, but boiling it down is better."

"How do you know about all of this?"

"My close friend Saul is in culinary school. He can go one for ages. Try the stuffed eggplant. And the Har Gau."

"Which is the, uh…"

"Sorry, they're the basket-like ones over here. They're shrimp dumplings."

Apart from chatting about the food, or the occasional satisfied noise, Will and Beverly pass their meal in relative quiet, mouths full of food. Will doesn't eat out. It's not really his thing, between work and anxiety, but this is delicious, and he's enjoying Beverly's company. Beverly being just Beverly. Will isn't usually too curious about people. Except when they are manipulating him. Or care about him. Or a little bit of both. The mix happens a little too much, in Will's opinion. Will can never be for sure in regards to manipulation, but he trusts Beverly. She's earned it, and she's never given him reason to believe she'd ever hurt him. Hell, she'd snuck around a dark forest, where there'd been a murder, with him just to reassure him. Beverly obviously trusts him. And Will is trusting her, right now. A mutual trust, then. Will feels warmth bloom in his chest as Beverly leans back in her chair, hands on her stomach as she lets out a contented sigh.

"How was that for your first Dim Sum experience?"

"I could actually hibernate until next Spring."

"Nailed it."

…

They wander, with no real sense of time or purpose. They avoid hills, wary of their full stomachs, perusing Chinatown's various tchotchke shops and historical buildings. The sun is high in the sky, now, and Will's no longer feeling the effects of his food coma. Beverly points out a tea shop, and they slip inside, escaping the heat of the afternoon sun.

Red Blossom Tea Company has an intimate atmosphere, but with Beverly as his buffer, Will doesn't feel stifled at all. He just relaxes, which is new. But he can, and so he does. Will enjoys the smells and the simplicity of the lines of the shop. He and Beverly smell Oolongs and Dragonwells, and they walk out with bags. Alishan and Fu Shou Shan brews for Beverly, and Lishan Tieguanyin and Dong Pian for Will.

Will doesn't usually brew tea. There's always coffee at work, even if Alana insists it's no good, but Will likes tea. He likes his tea sweet, and so does Beverly. Lishan Tieguanyin is flowery, with hints of nougat and coconut, and Dong Pian smells like a fairground, with notes of caramel and cotton candy. Will would usually be embarrassed by his tastes, but Beverly loves fruity teas. Her selection smells flowery, too, but with citrus, instead.

Beverly drives them up to the bay, and they go for a walk in the park, leaving their teas in the glove compartment. Will still can't get over not having any commitments.

Except to secrecy.

"Beverly?"

"Yeah?"

"Uh, why did this have to be a secret?"

"You know people would talk."

"But what about Hannibal?"

Beverly makes a face. "I'd rather stay off his radar."

Will inclines his head, thinking about it. "What do you mean?" The question isn't meant to be accusatory in any way, and Beverly seems to get that, and Will is glad she knows it's just curiosity.

"Well, Jack and him never really talked before, except professionally, and that was infrequent. But ever since he noticed that you and Jack care about each others' well being, he's been… invested. Dinner parties, and all that Hannibal stuff. He's even counselling Jack's wife, though you didn't hear that from me."

"It's normal to have a relationship with the guy putting me at risk, mentally. He's my psychiatrist."

"Yeah, I felt that way, too. But he's doing the same thing for Alana, too."

Will feels heat rise to his cheeks at the mention of Alana, but Beverly's wearing sunglasses, and he hopes she doesn't notice. "Alana?"

"Yeah. I mean, they knew each other a while back, but they haven't talked outside of the psychiatric profession in ages. Now it's all dinner parties and him brewing her beer in wine barrels. I'm guessing it's because she's your friend, and now Hannibal suddenly needs to be back in her life."

"Like, romantically…?" Will's blushing now, he knows it.

"No, nothing like that! It's just like if anyone wants to be close to you in any way, Hannibal has to be there, too. And that doesn't sit right with me. Your psychiatrist doesn't need to be involved in every aspect of your life. I'd rather be your friend without all that. Hannibal hasn't earned my trust yet."

Will blinks. "We're friends." He says it awkwardly. It's not a question in tone, but it's questioning, still.

"Yeah, of course. I care about you, Will."

Will can't help smiling a little. "Uh. I- er, I care about you, too. I trust you. I'm having… a fun vacation."

"I'm glad! Let's not talk about work, it's our vacation. I shouldn't have brought it up."

"Don't worry about it." Will says, and he means it. He needs his space from people he doesn't trust, and Beverly deserves the same. Will can keep this secret for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, folks. It's lookin' like a running theme in my fics to mention my favourite spots in my favourite cities. This is what happens when you plant a midwestern girl on the west coast, apparently.


	3. Chapter 3

Will sleeps on his back, with his arms at his sides. It never fails to remind him of lying down on an autopsy table, and sometimes, when he dwells on it, he feels that an autopsy table is exactly where he'll end up, one day. But he doesn't dwell on it, tonight. Mentally, he isn't tired at all; he's rested. But Physically, yes. He meets the physical requirements of an FBI field agent, but spending the day leisurely strolling up and down the hills of San Francisco with Beverly has caught up to him, and his legs are aching. Will strips, not bothering to fold his clothes back into his suitcase. He can hear water running next door as Beverly brushes her teeth, and the small reminder of Beverly's presence soothing him. If he ever wound up on an autopsy table, Will thinks, he'd want to have Beverly overseeing the proceedings. Will falls asleep as soon as he pulls the covers up.

 

When Will wakes, he's on his side, with his arms out in front of him, and he's not in his room.

 

It looks like his room, but more like a mirror of his room, with the furniture flipped. Maybe he woke up, in the middle of the night, changed everything around-

 

Will notices the duffle bag, that is certainly not his. The door opens, and Will scrambles to stand up, stopping when he realizes he's still in his underwear.

 

It's Beverly, with two cups of coffee in plain styrofoam cups from the hotel lobby. She's wearing plaid pyjama bottoms and a faded NYU t-shirt. "Morning."

 

" _Uhm._ " Will's bright red, and he can feel it on his face, neck, and shoulders; like a bad sunburn. His instinct is telling him to get out _now_ , but Beverly's dropped the room key on the bureau and is handing him the second coffee. Will accepts it after staring for a second, cradling it close to his chest as he hunches over a little, making himself smaller.

 

Beverly's just standing, sipping her coffee. She's not saying anything, and Will feels like he ought to make his excuses and leave, but she brought him _coffee._ The silence stretches on like a highway in the night, Beverly drinking her coffee while Will just holds his.

 

"So," Beverly starts, shifting her weight to one hip.

 

Will stares at the cup in his hand, willing it to swallow him whole.

 

"sleepwalking?"

 

"Uh." The door between their rooms is ajar.

 

"Sleepwalking."

 

"Er."

 

Beverly sits at the foot of the bed. Will's still not looking at her, but he feels the mattress move.

 

"Do you… wanna talk about it?"

 

"It's usually a… work related thing? It's a work related thing. Nightmares. Sleepwalking."

 

"Were you having nightmares?"

 

"I can't remember."

 

"Do you usually remember?"

 

"Yeah. I really do."

 

"That sucks." Beverly finishes her coffee and tosses the cup in the bin. "I'd finish yours before it gets cold. It's crap as it is, it's probably unbearable cold."

 

Will looks up at Beverly's face, and she doesn't have any extreme form of any expression. She's just picking out something to wear from her bag, shuffling over to the bathroom. When will hears the shower running, he pads back to his room, bare feet quiet on the scratchy hotel carpet. The coffee _is_ crap.

 

…

 

Dressed, Will hovers in the doorway between his and Beverly's room, listening to the hairdryer running from the bathroom. He feels guilty and embarrassed about busting into Beverly's room in the middle of the night and curling up in her _bed._ She hadn't made a big deal about it, but Will wants to apologize. When Beverly emerges from the bathroom, wearing soft linen shorts in grey with a mint green tank top.

 

"Sorry," Will blurts, "about all the- uhm, I didn't mean to… your _bed-_ " Struggling, Will forces himself to look Beverly in the eyes. "I'm sorry."

 

Beverly inclines her head, almost imperceptibly. "It was a little weird for me, yeah. But I've got younger siblings, I'm not entirely unfamiliar with it, I guess. Stuff happens, right?"

 

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. We can, er, lock the door-"

 

Beverly shakes her head. "You just slept, Will. Besides, I'd rather you sleepwalk to me than anywhere else. Wanna grab breakfast?"

 

"Uh. Yeah, for sure."

 

…

 

Breakfast includes better coffee. _Much_ better coffee. Will gets blueberry french toast with lemon curd, and the bitter and the sweet go so well together. Beverly munches on an eggs benedict with beef short ribs instead of ham, talking about a jewelry shop she likes, and if Will would be cool going with her to check it out, or if he wants to do something else.

 

"Of course I'll go with you."

 

"Thanks, Will." Beverly sounds genuinely glad, and Will thinks about their friendship, and he feels glad, too.

 

"It's no problem." Will says, and he means it. "Jewelry is cool. It's like making fishing lures, sort of, with attention to detail and care for your craft."

 

Beverly looks at him with such kindness in her eyes, without any pity at all, and Will feels warmth in his chest. He sits up straighter.

 

…

 

The shop is called _Mabel Chong_ , after the designer, and Will likes her design aesthetic. Beverly picks out a pair of earrings called _Andromeda 2,_ with prehnite and labradorite and gold wire, and a necklace called _Little Ray of Sunshine,_ a teardrop citrine on a gold chain that Will thinks brings out the warmth in Beverly's skin. The designer herself is there, chatting with customers, and Will feels confident enough to tell her that he likes her work. Beverly's jewellery comes in paper boxes stamped with the company name, and Beverly takes her card.

 

…

 

They're driving back to the hotel, and Beverly asks if Will wants to head up to Big Sur.

 

"Isn't there anything else you want to do in the city?"

 

Beverly shrugs. "Not really. We never really get to be out in the wilderness, except for, y'know, murder reasons. Besides, Saul owns this fantastic cookbook from Big Sur, and I'm looking forward to you teaching me how to fish."

 

Will smiles at that. It's nice to have something to offer that doesn't have to do with insight into serial killers.

 

They stop at a camping supply rental, picking up an extra sleeping bag and mat for Will.

 

"Do you want your own tent, Will? I have the two-person tent, but whatever makes you comfortable."

 

Will hesitates. "Would you be okay with sharing a tent?"

 

"Yeah, sure. And if it keeps you from sleepwalking, that's good. right?"

 

Will thinks about how when he slept in Beverly's bed, he was facing her on his side with his arms out. The Yearner, they call it. Will knows he doesn't have romantic feelings for Beverly, but he cares about her, and she cares about him. She's never tried to manipulate him or make him feel bad about his anxieties. They're friends, and Will's comfortable sleeping next to her.

 

"Yeah. Thanks, Beverly."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, Mabel Chong is a real jewelry shop, and her designs are wonderful. Her work is always real stones, with either sterling silver or 14k gold fill (gold fill is prone to discolouration unless looked after well). I love the pieces that I own to bits. She's also got a website that ships, so check her out!


	4. Chapter 4

The California I-5 winds along like a smooth grey ribbon, with the endless sea and the sky over Will's shoulders. The trunk of the Mustang is filled their luggage and their camping gear, sleeping bags and Beverly's tent and Will's fishing gear. Beverly's cooking stove is in the backseat, propped up next to their camping utensils, bottled water, and a bag of spices Beverly picked out for the fish. There's also a cooler filled with fruit and white wine and cheese.

 

"Well, we're not exactly roughing it." Beverly had admitted, and Will had just shrugged, with a small huff of laughter.

 

They brought lunch with them, half baguette sandwiches with ripe, soft cheese and salty ham, green apples, and guava soda in glass bottles, tucked in with their tea in the open glove compartment.

 

Beverly drives with one hand on the wheel, with the crisp sound of a tart apple being eaten on Will's left. She tosses her core out the window, and wipes her hand on her jeans. The highway borders a few national parks, and Will lets his eyes glaze over as he spaces out, watching blurs of dark, forest green against the blue and the grey. He's not worried about spacing out, now. In general, he is still very, _very_ concerned about time lapses and amnesia, but on the road with Beverly, where there hasn't been any need for latex gloves and blood samples and yellow tape, Will doesn't worry. There's just him and Beverly, with the cool spring air and the warm sun. So for the two hour ride, Beverly hums along to the radio, and Will zones out.

 

The sun is high in the sky when they arrive at Andrew Molera State park. The place is largely undeveloped, with tall Douglas Firs and Cedars forming a shady canopy. There's a river and a beach and hiking routes, and it's a quiet time of year. Beverly doesn't need much help setting up the tent, so Will inflates the sleeping mats and takes their their food supplies to the Bear Bin. Beverly quirks an eyebrow approvingly.

 

"Nice. You know the drill."

 

Will shrugs. "I like this sort of thing."

 

It isn't roughing it. Their car is only a few feet from the campsite, and there's an outhouse and a sheltered picnic table. Beverly sets up the cooking stove, asking Will if he wants some tea.

 

"Yeah, sure. I'm gonna go look around for a few minutes. Make whichever kind you like."

 

"I'm gonna try Lishan Tieguanyin, then."

 

Will accompanies Beverly to the car as she goes to fetch the tea. She also grabs a small pot.

 

"I'm gonna grab some water from the river to boil for the tea. No point in wasting bottled water."

 

Will agrees, and they set of in companionable silence after Beverly pulls the hood up on the convertible and locks the car.

 

The forest paths are still a little muddy from spring rains, with only weak sunlight filtered through the canopy making it's way to the trail. Everything smells like damp pine and sweet soil, and Will inhales deeply. Knobby roots and rocks line the trail, with ferns and ground-crawlers peeking out everywhere. Lichens and plush mosses cling to bark and stone, trapping moisture in the air. Will feels perfectly snug in his fleece and boots, and Beverly's opted to layer a flannel over her tank top.

 

"Will?"

 

"Yeah."

 

"Would it be suspicious if we both came back at the same time? I mean, we already left at the same time."

 

Will chews his bottom lip. "Yeah, it would, I think. Then our secrecy would've been for moot."

 

"Jack gave you four days?"

 

"Yeah."

 

Beverly looks apprehensive. Will figures since she's so good at taking his cues, he should try to make her feel good, too.

 

"Don't worry about it if he gave you more," Will starts, and Beverly's face relaxes. "Jack… is Jack."

 

"It's not fair to you that you can't get away from all… _that._ " Beverly gestures abstractly.

 

Will runs a hand through his hair. "He gave me chances to back out, but I could never really do it. What I do… is good. People are safer when I do my thing, instead of teaching."

 

"You've trained bright minds, Will. Don't sell yourself short as a teacher. It's great that you're committed to what you do. But if you ever need to step back, or talk to a friend…" Beverly trails of momentarily. "well, I've got you, alright?"

 

"It's… nice, talking to someone who isn't my shrink about all of this. I mean you probably already know about my, uh, 'deteriorating mental state as a result of my unique disorder'?" Will air quotes. He's not sure when he become so sardonic. It must have been a gradually evolving self-defence mechanism.

 

Beverly shakes her head, frowning. "Fuck that shit, Will."

 

It startles a laugh out of him, and Beverly continues.

 

"I'm serious! All this fucked up blood and guts business would get anyone seriously messed if they had no one to talk to. It's worse for you because you can look at it closer than anyone else. You're trying to use that to prevent this shit from happening, and you work _so hard_ on all fronts, and these suited fucknuts shit all over you from behind their big desks because they want to _diagnose._ They're the fucked-up ones, not you." Beverly crosses her arms, scowling at nothing in particular.

 

"Uh, wow," Will grins. "that's, er… quite the vocabulary."

 

They've stopped walking, with the roar of the bloated spring river right behind them. Beverly crouches on the bank, dipping in the pot. Will hovers, staring. Beverly's colloquial relationship with Jack has always made Will wonder a bit where Beverly stood with the PhD types, and he likes her all the more for her attitude. And her un-pardoned French. Will opts to instead follow Beverly back to the campsite.

 

…

 

They bring their lunches back from the car to the picnic table. Will loves eating outdoors. When summer in Wolf Trap rolls around, he spends most of his time eating on the porch while his dogs run on the property. Beverly strains the tea into plastic camp mugs, and sweet-smelling steam curls up into Will's nose as Beverly blows over the rim of her mug to cool the drink off. Will opens a pack of powdered milk with his teeth. It makes him wonder how his dogs are doing, and he tells Beverly as much as he mixes in the powder with his tea.

 

Beverly checks her phone. "There isn't any service here, but if we drive up to the Big Sur community tomorrow, there should be."

 

Beverly's told Will about the community. It couldn't really be called a town, even. There's fishing and farming and bee-keeping and one acclaimed gourmet restaurant, run by a chef couple that left their busy life in New York to settle down in Big Sur. Saul has their cookbook, and Beverly raves about all the dishes.

 

Will chews thoughtfully on his baguette sandwich. "Yeah, sounds good. I'd love to try that breakfast pizza you told me about, anyways."

 

Beverly smiles over her mug. "You remembered!"

 

"You _did_ describe it in, uh, pretty vivid detail."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And yet again, that restaurant in Big Sur is a real place, and their cookbook is one of my favourites. The breakfast pizza is fuckin' rad.

**Author's Note:**

> SO IT HAS COME TO THIS


End file.
